


All Come Back Around

by entanglednow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-25
Updated: 2010-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-14 12:20:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people don't know what they want until it's gone, and some people want things they can't have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Come Back Around

  
Dean toes his boots off and lets them fall over the end of the bed, listens to the hard thud-thud of them hitting the floor. It's the first chance he's had to relax all day. He can't even be bothered to shower - though he's fairly sure there's still monster goo somewhere on his left forearm that will cause him to regret that later. He can hear the rain smacking against the windows in an angry rush, telling him he got back just in time. Though there hadn't been any sign of a storm earlier. He listens to thunder rumble in the distance. Damn, it's good to just lay back and feel all his muscles and joints click and pop, and then settle.

He's been laying there for five minutes enjoying the whole 'not getting chased by monsters' part of the day when he realises there's still something missing. He digs his phone out of his pocket and calls Castiel.

It only rings twice before Castiel picks up. "Dean."

Dean kind of likes that, that there's no hello, just his name. The way Castiel says it, like he was just waiting for Dean to call him, every time. He throws an arm over his head and smiles at the ceiling. "Hey, what ya doing?"

"Nothing of importance," Castiel says. Dean wonders, not for the first time, where exactly Castiel is. Whether he's on some street in some small town, doing angel business, or whether he's in Europe, or outer space. Or freakin' Mars?

Castiel voice goes even deeper. "Do you need me?"

All the damn time, Dean thinks, but doesn't say it. Because it sounds stupid and cliched, even in his head.

"You can't come back, it defeats the whole purpose of my calling you up if you can just flit back and forth on the angel network."

"What purpose is it defeating?" Castiel asks after a pause.

Dean sighs and pulls a hand down his face. "You realise it's kind of hard to phone you up and tell you that I miss you when you can just fly in any time you want?'

"You wouldn't have to miss me if I was there. Though I can't come to you because you're forbidding me to." Confusion makes Castiel's voice rough.

Dean can't resist the huff of amusement. "No, I didn't forbid you."

"Then I can return?"

"No," Dean tells him, then eases back until his head hits the pillow. He definitely doesn't miss the air of frustrated unhappiness that time. "It's late, just talk to me before I go to sleep. I want to hear your voice."

There's a pause that seems to be weighing up his words. Cas is getting better at teasing meaning from what he doesn't say as well as what he does. He's a quick learner - Dean's going to blame that on the rewards system they have going on now.

"This doesn't seem conducive to sleeping," Castiel remarks, and that oh that right there is pique and it's kind of delicious.

"Maybe I want you to talk to me anyway." Because there is nothing like Castiel's voice to go to sleep to.

"I could talk to you more easily if I was there," Castiel counters.

"Dude, you're really going to make me work for this aren't you?"

"I don't understand what you want."

Dean can't decide if Castiel's genuinely confused or whether he's just playing ignorant because he wants to drop in. "When I touch you, tell me which bits you like best."

"All of it," Castiel says straight away.

Dean will not sigh, he will not. "You want to be more specific?"

"I want to be touching you," Castiel says firmly. Castiel is way more disobedient than Dean remembers. He should feel guilty but he makes it so fucking good and he's a second away from telling him to get his feathery ass over her now - when the motel door smacks inwards, hard and his phone nearly goes flying across the room. Dean's off the bed and immediately ready to take something's head off. But it's just Sam - at least Dean assumes it's Sam since all he can see at the moment is hair and tangles of wet clothing.

Sam is absolutely soaked. Water is running and rolling off of him like he was literally thrown back to the motel by the hurricane outside.

"What the hell. I thought you were at the library with Gabriel?"

Sam's mouth tilts down unhappily at the mention of his name, then pitches into a scowl. Water runs off his nose, leaving messy trails on the carpet where it spatters out of his hair. He takes two steps, shoes squishing and squidging, before pushing the door shut so hard behind him that all the curtains in the room thrash.

"So that storm outside's your doing then?" Dean decides. "Ok, what the hell did you do to piss him off this time?"

Sam shakes his arms, disgusted at the spray of water that flies everywhere. The thoroughly miserable expression doesn't budge from his face. "I didn't do anything to deserve being drowned. Oregon did nothing to deserve the risk of being washed away in a biblical flood." Sam doesn’t quite shake in his direction, though there's the threat of spray which Dean feels the need to edge away from anyway.

There's a snap of sound and then there's an angel in the room.

"I believe Gabriel disapproved of the names you called him," Castiel offers. Then he realises he's still holding his phone and puts it back in his pocket. Dean hangs up his own and tosses it onto the nightstand with a mutter of annoyance.

Sam quietly seethes under his layer of rain. "I didn't call him anything he didn't _deserve_."

The lightning outside flashes dramatically, immediately followed by a bang of thunder so loud the whole room shakes.

"Oh shut up," Sam tells the maelstrom and heads in the direction of the bathroom. He makes sure to slam the door shut behind him.

  
*****

  
"Damn it!"

Sam glares at his face in the mirror over the sink. It's plastered with wet hair and already red from the force of the rain. He looks a mess, and it's amazing he managed to get back at all, since the storm had pretty much had it out for him from the start. He knows why as well. But he's not apologising, he's not taking any of it back, because he'd been right. Everything he'd said had been true. Gabriel is dangerous to have around, wilful and untrustworthy and reckless. He's more pagan god than angel, more _Trickster_. Sam's completely sick of dealing with his particular sense of humour. Of the fact that he always seems to be the butt of the joke. It takes almost as much energy to deal with him as it does to hunt some days. Also, no matter how much he insists that he's not on anyone's side Gabriel doesn’t exactly mind if bystanders get hurt. Oh he'll make them part of his games but actually care about them - not a chance. Gabriel doesn't care about anyone and sooner or later that's going to screw them all.

Sam swears and starts struggling his way out of his wet clothes, gone tight where they're soaked through. His sleeves peel off in a misery of tugs and his shoes are so full of water he might as well just toss them straight in the trash. He's leaving dirty pools of rainwater and clothing dye everywhere he goes. It'll be a miracle if he even manages to get his jeans off so he can actually take a shower. Which, granted, is just a whole new sort of wet, but at least it will be warmer than the downpour outside.

Trying to understand Gabriel is a losing battle, trying to have the first clue about why he does the things he does is frustrating and impossible and Sam's sick of that too. He's sick of defending him to Dean and Castiel. He's sick of bringing out the same excuse over and over, that having an Archangel on their side helps them now that there are stronger, faster, older monsters out there. It doesn't matter how powerful Gabriel is. Because he's unreliable and exhausting and he has no boundaries at all. Sometimes he's just downright malicious.

Gabriel obviously just doesn’t care at all.

Sam knows the things he's done, he knows the bad - awful - choices he's made. He knows how much of a mess he was and he doesn’t need to be reminded of it over and over. He doesn’t need Gabriel to make jokes about it like it happened to someone else.

He stands under the shower and fumes quietly

  
*****

  
Dean is more than a little annoyed about the fact that Sam's still sulking two days later. They're on the trail of some sort of demonic horse (which Dean's finished making jokes about - which he was _forced_ to stop making jokes about thanks to Castiel staring at him in his 'I'm disappointed in humanity' sort of way.)

His brother's leaning against the window staring moodily out at the exciting panorama of fields and hedges, as if absolutely everything out there is more fascinating than anything he could possibly want to talk to Dean about. Normally Dean would snipe at him until he could work through his 'I'm pissed off at the world,' mood. But to be honest he'd missed Sam's 'I am miserable and I'm going to suffer' period of non-souled-ness. Which he's not sure if he should feel bad about, or at least a little weird about. But, meh, he's going to enjoy it anyway.

Dean's so busy enjoying it he almost misses the oddly loud rush of air that tells him there's an angel in the backseat. He swears and pulls off the road in a shower of gravel. "Jesus, Cas, what have I told you -"

Only it's not Castiel. It's Gabriel and he's - Gabriel is wearing a _suit_. One of those boring, angelfied, one-size-fits-all deals. The blandest tailoring known to man.

"What the hell are you wearing?" Dean asks incredulously.

Gabriel doesn't answer.

"The creature you're hunting, you'll find it more of a threat than you're expecting." Gabriel's voice is flat, deeper than it should be. Dean has to twist around in his seat and stare at him.

"Dude, what happened to you. Did you come from a funeral or something?"

"No." Gabriel stares back impassively and it's genuinely creepy. That's an angel expression, but he's never seen it on Gabriel's face before. Gabriel's face is usually a collection of eyebrow movements and smirks and innuendos that he wants to punch just on principle. But this time it's completely flat. It's like all the personality has been leeched out of him. Like he's been forced through some sort of demented brainwashing, all neat corners and dark hair and stiffness. There's just nothing there.

What the hell?

"Gabriel -"

"It has incredible powers of regeneration and it bites, be careful." Gabriel is gone in a rush of air before Dean can even work out what the hell is going on.

Dean stares at the back seat for half a minute.

"Well that was officially creepy as hell," he decides eventually.

"He's just messing with us," Sam says from the passenger seat. Voice tight and irritated. "Don't even think the best behaviour crap is here to stay. You might want to enjoy it while it lasts though."

Dean turns to look at him, one eyebrow raised. "What exactly did you say to him?"

Sam shakes his head. "Nothing, I didn't say anything."

"Right, he's just an angel pod person because he _feels_ like it."

Sam's shoulders stiffen and then shift about. It's not a shrug, it's some weird non-answer. Like Sam's body doesn't even know what it wants to do.

"Sam," Dean insists.

"He was being an ass. I just told him to stop."

Dean nods his head sarcastically. "Yeah, I'm going go out on a limb and say you did a little more than that."

"It's nothing we haven't talked about before."

That's not encouraging at all. Because Dean knows damn well he wouldn't want Gabriel around for some of the conversations they have about him. Mind-reading or not there are some things you should probably keep to yourself when an Archangel's helping you out without demanding anything out of it.

"Smart, dude, really smart." Dean turns the wheel and takes the car back onto the road.

  
*****

  
Dean's still disturbed four hours later, when Castiel shows up. The expression on his face tells Dean he already knows about the moment of parallel universe mind-fuckery they'd experienced today.

"I'm missing something aren't I?" Dean says over his perfectly clean collection of guns.

Castiel is hovering in that angel way of his. Mocking everyone else with his complete lack of a need to sit down. Sam's out somewhere doing Sam things - though Dean has less cause to worry about that since he got his soul stapled back inside his body - or whatever the hell passed for super-hold glue in the world of souls and bodies. Honestly, thinking about it makes his brain hurt in a metaphysical way and he doesn't like it.

"I mean I get that Sam has a mouth on him when he's angry. I'm used to that. But I would have thought _Gabriel_ would just ignore him. He's barely given a crap about what we thought before."

"I believe it's more to do with how Gabriel sees himself, coupled with how Sam sees him. Now there's nothing left to run away from, for either of them." Castiel defies his expectations by drifting closer and actually looking like he's thinking of sitting down. The corruption of the angelic host continues.

"But Sam..."

"Gabriel has always been fascinated by Sam, by their similarities and their differences," Castiel says quietly.

"Could you re-phrase that in a way that doesn't make it sound like he's going to be asking Sam to prom any day now."

Castiel frowns in that special way he has when he actually does get a reference, he just doesn't think Dean's going to like the answer.

"Jesus." Dean rubs a hand over his face, because it isn't like their life isn't complicated enough as it is. "Yeah, why am I even surprised by that."

"Gabriel's spent a long time interacting with humanity, I believe he understands you and when you understand something it's easy to become attached. I'd imagine it's hard to start judging yourself when you've spent your whole life judging others."

"And Sam made him judge himself?"

Castiel nods. "And I believe he didn't like what he saw."

Yeah, Dean thinks, that's probably the understatement of the century.

"I do not need my brother to end up in a messed up relationship with a demented Archangel. No more goddamn angels."

"I'm an angel," Castiel says, it's quiet but pointed.

"Yeah, I know, obviously but you're less..." Dean waves a hand in a way he hopes is helpful as to what Castiel is less of.

Castiel raises an eyebrow, as if he has no idea what Dean's getting at, but that it had better be good.

"I'm trying to think of a good word to describe all the many things that Gabriel is," Dean admits.

Castiel lets him off, possibly due to being well acquainted with Gabriel himself. Dean doesn’t think Gabriel makes sense in any religion.

"So what the hell happened anyway?"

Castiel drifts closer, shoes leaving prints on the motel carpet even though his feet don't make a sound.

"Sam demanded to know why Gabriel couldn't be more like me. I believe the terms used were 'sensible, serious and helpful.'"

Dean winces.

"All things which Gabriel excels at," he says dryly.

"Sam objected, strongly, to Gabriel's tendency to act on his whims however and whenever he sees fit. There were a variety of insults, coupled with a general bewilderment that Gabriel could even call himself an angel when he continued to behave like he does. The phrase 'your personality is a disaster area' was used."

Dean winces, mutters 'freakin' moron' under his breath and then pulls a hand over his face. "Seriously, was he drunk or something? How could this ever _not_ come back to bite him on the ass."

"I believe Sam still has a lot of frustration and anger to work through."

"Working through it by baiting Gabriel - not exactly the smartest move. You'd think he'd know better than that by now."

Castiel's standing very still. Dean looks at him over the top of his hand. He can feel the wheels turning in his head. Not that Castiel has wheels, it's probably more like some sort of giant electrical storm in there.

"What is it?"

"You've often mentioned that I'm _no fun_ ," Castiel says carefully.

Dean frowns. "No, hey, no, I like that you're sensible."

Castiel raises a disbelieving eyebrow.

"I'm not kidding, I do," Dean says. "It's good, it's definitely good. Sometimes I lack sensibility. It's nice to have - y'know you."

There's still a sort of tension to Castiel. As if he still isn't sure if he understands.

"I make fun of it sometimes but I wouldn't want you to change. Ever."

Castiel still has that little crease between his eyes which tells Dean he hasn't finished thinking. Dean stretches a hand out and snags the sleeve of his coat, tugging him closer to the bed.

"Please _do not_ turn into Gabriel," he says firmly.

Castiel's exhale comes out as something that's almost a laugh, quick and quietly amused. "I think I can manage that."

  
*****

  
The joke gets old two weeks in. Sam had been completely wrong. He's not enjoying this at all. Gabriel barely speaks to him now, and almost never about anything that isn't case-related. Sam had never realised how much they talked until they're not doing it any more. Useless everyday stuff, between all the fighting and mockery and innuendo. The stories Gabriel used to tell, most of them hopelessly exaggerated (at least Sam kind of hopes they were exaggerated.) But now there's nothing and it's jarring. Even when Gabriel's around, it feels like he isn't, like this is just some unfinished version of himself he's left in his place.

Gabriel's blank expression and flat, helpful monotone are so foreign that waiting for the punchline has them all strung tight.

Castiel's been shooting Sam sidelong glances heavy with disappointment, as if it's somehow his fault. Sam's just about ready to concede that maybe he was a little harsh. But Gabriel's an Archangel and Sam seriously doubts he has feelings to hurt.

  
*****

  
Gabriel shows up with a snap of unnecessary wing noise while they're looking into ways to destroy a sinkhole which turned out to be not so much natural as the mouth of a giant beast. Sam's expecting a Star Wars joke and it takes him a second to remember that Gabriel is currently pissed at him and is pretending to be an angel drone. So he doesn't even bother looking at him, even when his shiny shoes move into his line of vision.

The silence drags on and it occurs to Sam that Gabriel can almost certainly out-wait him.

"This thing you're doing is really old you know," he says with a sigh, looking over the book he's reading about Leviathans.

"Leviathans are all water-based," Gabriel says and slips another book out of the pile, offers it to him. Sam grunts and takes it. Gabriel's fingers touch his for just a second, they're dry and cold.

"I'm still not used to you being helpful," Sam says dubiously. "At least not without doing something weird and disturbing first. When you're around there's usually a background noise of continual mockery."

Gabriel doesn't reply. He's lifted one of the books from the table and is paging his way through it with stiff, careful movements.

Sam rolls his eyes at him. "I know you have better control of a body than that."

Gabriel's fingers pause briefly and then carry on. "It takes more concentration to inhabit the body like you own it. Angels weren't meant to fit into a human body. Controlling your dimensions, your strength, your precision, limiting them to appear human. It's a meaningless waste of energy."

Sam frowns. "It didn't look meaningless to me."

Gabriel turns to where Sam has left the stack of books he'd brought back from the library.

Sam reaches out catches his arm to tug him back round.

"Gabriel -" Gabriel is as stiff and unreal as Castiel's used to be, when he'd first met him. That heavy, unyielding tension. Where the angel underneath had taken the flesh and made it wrong. Sam stops touching, drawing his hand back.

But Gabriel's already turned around, expression somehow questioning while barely moving at all.

"Look I know we had a fight, but that's no excuse for this. Gabriel, this is ridiculous, and quite frankly it's disturbing."

Gabriel's eyes meet his. They're a pale brown, and it's not the same colour Sam remembers. It's too focused, lit from behind in a way that's strange and not quite right. In a way that he could stare at but he's afraid he'd get lost because there's something cold there too. Something cold and exact and it goes on forever.

Sam looks away, clears his throat. "It's weird seeing you like this, listening to you like this, you realise that don't you? It's like you're a pod person, or the you from an alternate universe. And you won't talk to me - not properly." It occurs to him that there could be a Gabriel in an alternate universe exactly like this. One who never ran away. One who stayed and was obedient and righteous and blank like this. It's not a nice thought. He doesn't think he'd like that Gabriel at all.

"Gabriel, you can stop you know. I was a dick, I get it. The angel thing doesn't suit you." It disturbs him, if he's honest. It's just so _wrong_. But if anything that gets him a fraction more stillness, a tightness to Gabriel's mouth. As if he's just made it worse.

Between one breath and the next Gabriel's gone.

"I'm starting to understand why that pisses Dean off so much," Sam mutters to himself.

  
*****

  
It doesn't stop.

After a month even Dean's sick of it.

"Tell him you were an asshole and fucking apologise," he snaps one day after Castiel leaves.

Sam sighs and tosses the book he wasn't even reading off the end of the bed.

-

He corners Gabriel that night, between the Impala and the motel. They've just come back from a fight with a nest of vampires. There's blood splashed up one side of his face and the sleeve of his jacket. He's still jittery from the adrenaline high, breath misting in the air, and he knows he smells like burnt vampire.

Gabriel stares at him like he's looking straight through him and it doesn't occur to Sam until then that up until now Gabriel was always happy to see him, always. It's still jarring, this complete lack of emotion. Somewhere in his head there's an overwhelming urge to just shake him until he reacts.

Sam thinks Gabriel should look bigger like this. Now he's playing angel. All that official, pompous, righteous angelness should spread out and make him look _more_. But instead Gabriel looks smaller like this, thinner and strangely breakable. It all gives the impression that he's folded in more carefully, like he's forgotten how to do everything. Or that he just doesn't want to try.

Sam realises, in a moment of horrible clarity, that they had been friends.

"I'm sorry, ok," he says quietly and he doesn’t even have to try to sound like he means it. "I was an asshole and I'm sorry, really. You can stop this now, whatever the hell it is."

"I have stopped," Gabriel says quietly, head tilted back to look at him. "I thought that was the point. You wanted me to stop lying and be exactly what I am. No more disguises, no more games, just me." He stops talking and looks away.

Sam frowns, because that wasn't what he meant at all. He opens his mouth to tell him as much -

But Gabriel's already gone again. Like he has a thousand more important things to do.

"God fucking damn it!"

Sam's so rough putting the weapons away that he rips the handle off Dean's bag. Dean's going to go apeshit and he doesn't even care.

  
*****

  
Sam realises something is _really_ wrong when one of the angels who occasionally shows up with Castiel remarks that heaven is better for Gabriel's return. Especially now he's stopped pretending to be something he's not. Sam's wants to punch the nameless drone in the face so badly it's like an itch behind his eyes. He doesn't even care if he breaks every one of his fingers.

He thinks he might be going mad.

  
*****

  
Gabriel is as high as he can get in the state they're in. He's sat where the wind tears at Castiel's coat, staring off into the distance with an expression at odds with his new calm, angel persona. He's clearly frustrated, and angry and Castiel suspects he has a lot of experience with both. Far too much to lock away.

Castiel carefully settles beside him. Gabriel doesn't have to look at him, he probably knew Castiel would be here before Castiel had even thought to look for him.

"Being an angel doesn't suit you." The words are slow, measured. Castiel has thought hard about the truth of them. But he still thinks they'll be unwelcome.

"Funny," Gabriel says slowly. "That's what Sam said."

His tie is flapping in the wind, a flare of personality amid the blankness. Castiel misses the jagged colours Gabriel used to trail, like he could never quite contain his own bizarre irreverence, his uniqueness. Today he is crystalline flares of blue and white. Controlled, cold. He is glorious - but he's not _Gabriel_.

"I don't think he meant it as an insult," Castiel says.

"He wanted this, I was in his head."

"You should know better than anyone that what they think they want and what they actually want are vastly different." Sam craves stability and his feelings for Gabriel are confused, uncertain and half-formed. They clash with the desire. But Gabriel doesn't say that, even though they both know it. It's hard sometimes, to know things before the people you love, to not be able to say them. To know when it was best not to say them. Castiel learnt that lesson the hard way.

"I'm an angel and so are you," Gabriel reminds him. Castiel thinks he knows him well enough to unpick the shades in his voice that tell more than the words.

"You were a perfect angel - but that was a very long time ago and _everything_ has changed."

"I thought that's what I was doing, coming back to work, redecorating the old office, hurrah." Gabriel voice is flat now, mocking, though there's nothing underneath. He's strangely wan without his layers.

"Why?" Castiel asks.

"Because it's what I should have done, you were right, Dean was right, Sam was right. Revel in how right you all were." Gabriel's shoes skid on the ledge and tiny pieces of stone cascade down.

"That's a lot of history to put away like it never happened."

"I think the skill set I learned as a pagan god doesn't really fit my old job description." It's a curl of sarcasm that Castiel finds he'd missed more than he expected. Castiel thinks about asking if Gabriel even wanted to come back, if he wanted to be what he had been.

"Our Father brought you back exactly as you were," Castiel says. "Maybe that's who you're meant to be."

Gabriel looks at him then, and his face is full of expression. The wind tears past them both, deafening and ice cold. But the cold has never bothered them, and they don't need sound to speak.

"I have never seen you so miserable," Castiel says honestly.

  
*****

  
Sam doesn't really drink to get drunk. It never solves anything for him and he always feels like shit the next day, in a way Dean never does. But sometimes he really does wish he could drown the world out under the lazy buzz of alcohol. To just set his feelings to one side and look at the whole confusing mess of it later, when he's not so tired. When it's not so close and confusing and personal.

When Gabriel's fingers slip the bottle out of his hand he doesn't even try to hang onto it. Gabriel leans sideways and sets it on the table.

"I miss you," Sam says quietly.

He watches Gabriel go still through his hair.

"I bet you never thought I'd say that." Sam snorts rough, dejected amusement. "I was so angry and - " Sam reaches out, snatches Gabriel's tie and pulls. Gabriel doesn't move at all. He doesn't even look irritated.

Sam pulls again and Gabriel takes a slow step forward. He smells like the cold from outside, like storms and nothing else. Sam vaguely remembers the smell of candy, though he's half afraid he'd imagined it before. He doesn't quite know what that means.

He thinks there were a hundred things he missed.

"This," Sam says disgustedly, he wraps a hand round the tie and holds it. "The clothes, the hair, everything -" He thinks, for a second, about reaching out and catching Gabriel's hand. But that's too mad, too much and he can't do it. Suddenly angry at his own cowardice he pulls again, ends up with Gabriel much closer, almost too close. Looking wrong in black, flat and colourless.

Sam stands up and reaches for the bottle again, changes his mind and catches Gabriel again instead. There's give in his clothes even if there isn't any in him when he pulls.

"This isn't you," Sam says angrily and suddenly he hates the stupid, wretched jacket and the shirt because they're completely wrong. They're all pieces of the angels that never helped them. The ones that did everything they could to wipe them off the face of the earth. It's a uniform and he hates it. Sam barely knows he's going to do it before he's shoving the jacket back, tugging it down Gabriel's arms in one barely coordinated movement, fingers not careful when they jerk the shirt out of the pants. Gabriel lifts a hand - and Sam smacks it out of the way, surprised when it drops obediently. Sam hears cotton tear and buttons skitter across the floor when they snap free. But he's too angry to notice, too angry to care. He's too angry to realise exactly what he's doing, how hard he's pulling. Until he has Gabriel's bare shoulders under his hands, the skin cold and strange and unexpected. Sam's breathing too fast, fingers digging in hard, pulse thudding in his throat. Because it's wrong, it's all wrong. He doesn't know what the hell he's doing. His hands are sliding down and curling round Gabriel's arms, fingers wrapping all the way round.

Gabriel's still watching him with that completely blank expression. Though his eyes are dark and hot and a million miles away from the angel coldness he remembers. Sam doesn't care, he wants him angry, because at least angry is _something._

"What do you want, Sam?" Gabriel asks flatly, head tilted, eyebrows drawn down, like he has only the barest understanding of how a face works. Sam doesn't like it, at all. He shakes his head because he doesn’t know what else to do.

"You're scaring the crap out of me, please, just stop."

"This is what you wanted. This is what you asked for," Gabriel says easily. There's no mockery there, it's just honest, pointed, accusing almost, though Sam might just be imagining that.

"I didn't mean - for fuck's sake this isn't you."

"Are you sure?" Gabriel says, and there's a sharpness there now, something biting under the words. His arms tense and shift under Sam's hands but he doesn't shake him off. He's angry, he's genuinely angry. "Are you sure this isn't _exactly_ who I am? That all the rest isn't just smoke and mirrors, that it's something I've learnt how to be, that it's a suit I put on, just like this one. Are you absolutely sure this isn't who I really am underneath?"

Sam thinks he stops breathing, because the thought had never even occurred to him. He'd never thought for a second that this had been more the truth than the Gabriel he knew. He tries to catch something, _anything_ , in Gabriel's eyes, but they stubbornly refuse to give him an answer. Would he really have pretended for so long? Why would he have done that? Sam remembers, suddenly, the quiet, desperate frustration he'd witnessed after Gabriel had forced him to relive the same day over and over. The need for him to _understand_ and then the surrender when he'd refused to. Sam thinks that was probably the most honest he'd ever seen him.

"Yeah," Sam says firmly. "I'm sure."

Gabriel's face shifts, easily, into something surprised, and it's familiar.

"This isn't you," Sam insists. "This isn't who you are."

He shakes his head and tugs Gabriel forward, just a little. Gabriel lets him.

"I like who you are," Sam admits. For maybe the first time. "You drive me crazy and you're reckless and insane and amazing and sometimes downright nasty. But I like that you. You're a mess and I like you because you're nothing like anyone else."

"Sam," Gabriel says quietly and it's soft and low, almost familiar. "Sam."

"You were my friend, and I miss you and I want you back, just...please." Sam pushes his fingers into the hair at the back of Gabriel's neck, tightens them and tugs Gabriel's head back. He's still swearing, still mumbling half-broken words and he has no idea how he gets down there but the next thing he knows he has their foreheads pressed together hard enough to hurt.

"Sam," Gabriel says again, his name long and drawn-out.

"I didn't know, I'm sorry, I didn't even know. I shouldn't have said any of those things I said. You were you and I didn't know and it wasn't fair...." He's making no sense, and he can feel the warm flare of Gabriel's breath against his mouth, still shaping his name, soft like it's trying to quiet him. Sam has to shut him up, he just has to shut him up. He tips his head, presses his mouth silent. The hand he has in Gabriel hair loosens, fingers spreading and sliding up to frame the curve of his skull.

"Bad idea, really bad idea," Gabriel hisses against his mouth - but doesn't stop kissing him.

"Fucking terrible idea," Sam mumbles back. But he doesn’t care, because all the frustrated wrongness he's been carrying is melting into something else. Something he hadn't even known was there until it's staring straight at him. Gabriel goes fluid like liquid, angel stiffness pouring out of him and suddenly he's warm and soft and heavy in a way that's real. Sam has no idea what this is, or how it's even going to work, but right now he doesn't know how to want anything else. Sam catches the fluttering halves of Gabriel's shirt and pulls him towards the bed.

Sam's clothes end up flung half way across the room, Gabriel's shirt and tie somewhere - Sam can't even remember where he throws them. The bed isn't even close to big enough for the sort of enthusiasm that Gabriel seems to have. Sam makes an untidy, ludicrous mess of Gabriel's hair because he can't let go of it. He can't stop kissing him, mouth quickly going numb with the newness of it all. Even though he's not quite the right shape, hard in all the wrong places - too strong when he decides Sam needs to stop what he's doing and do something else. Sam's already breathing like this is going to kill him. Mumbling his name like he's just discovered how to say it and Gabriel just agreeing, over and over like he's worried Sam will pass out if he doesn't shut the hell up.

Gabriel eventually makes it impossible for him to talk, pressing him back in the sheets with the flat of one palm and kissing him. All strength and demand and there's a flash of teeth in Gabriel's smile. Sam grunts and doesn't try and talk again, he wraps an arm round Gabriel's waist, and pulls him down, feels muscle shift under his fingers and squeezes tighter so he can feel them stretch and twist again.

"You have no idea what you're doing," Gabriel says firmly. Making it sound like this is the worst idea ever. But his hands are sliding into Sam's boxers and if Sam ever had a reply to that it ends up as a rush of air and a tangle of consonants which make no sense at all. Sam tilts his hips up and hisses and pulls Gabriel's hair, all wordless demand for more. He doesn't have the coordination to get his hands in Gabriel's pants so he settles for fisting his hands in the back of them until stitching protests with a snap.

"Will you please move," Sam's voice is a rumble of impatience. Gabriel laughs and sways back, hands shoving at the waistband, pushing his pants down over his hips. Though the whole process is still far too slow for Sam, who's having a moment of revelation. Having a moment of revelation, it turns out, makes everything very immediate.

He tells Gabriel as much, though he's worried he still doesn't really make sense.

Gabriel's laughing again, quiet, breathless laughter.

"Fuck, fuck," Sam say roughly. Because he hadn't even known how much he'd missed that until he'd thought he couldn't have it any more. He reaches out, snags Gabriel's waist and _pulls_. "I was angry at you for all the wrong reasons. I'm sorry," he says into a curve of throat that smells like cinnamon and liquorice. He thinks he'd quite like to dig his teeth in.

Gabriel's warm hands push into his hair, dragging it all off his face and Sam shuts his eyes and sighs and calls himself every idiotic name under the sun.

"Trying to find the person you were thousands of years ago, in hindsight, kind of a terrible idea," Gabriel concedes.

Sam shuts him up by dragging him back in and kissing him again and it's much, much easier than he thought it would be to do this with someone who's man-shaped.

It's really just a matter of enthusiasm.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] All Come Back Around](https://archiveofourown.org/works/558829) by [kalakirya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalakirya/pseuds/kalakirya)




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